Hey, here's 2.5 k of shapeshifter body horror :) enjoy :)

Fiddleford stared at the bathroom door, body tense and breathing heavy as he listened to the noises happening on the other side.

To anyone else who hadn’t seen what was on the other side, the sounds could easily be explained as very fitting for their location. An occasional gurgle here and there, low murmurs of pain, something wet slapping against porcelain.  

Anyone else might have called out in concern or worry, or asked if they needed anything for the inhabitants prolonged stay. A bowl of soup might be prepared, or some medicine, or whatever else someone might do for a friend suffering in the bathroom.

Like give them space.

Fiddleford wasn’t anyone else. He knew what was in there. He knew what was making those sounds. He knew no bowl of soup or medicine, or any amount of space would help.

Well, space might help him. The more the better in fact, as the last thing he wanted to do was even think about what was behind the door.

Unfortunately, Ford hadn’t left the room since Fiddleford showed up, meaning someone had to deliver food to him so he wouldn’t starve, and unfortunately there was no one else but him to put in the work and make sure the man didn’t stave to death.

And Stanley. Couldn’t forget about Stanley. He… also. Needed food.

Or so Fiddleford was told.

He didn’t like to think about it.

With one more deep breath to settle his nerves, Fiddleford gripped the plate in his hand tight, and slowly reached forward to turn the knob. Time felt slow and sluggish, the metal cool under his touch. A part of him hoped Ford might have accidentally locked it, or that something might have blocked the door, preventing entry.

A twist of fate, preventing him from seeing what was in there, and still say he tried his best.

Or tried at all.

It twisted easily under his grip, and the door swung open with only a faint squeak.

The sight in front of him made all the moisture in his mouth vanish, and he silently gave himself a pat on the back for choosing not to eat before coming in here.

Ford was right where he was last time, sitting in a chair slumped next to the bathtub. His arms were hanging over the edge, and his head was resting on top of them. The reflection of the light on his glasses made it hard to see his eyes, but he had no doubt they were shut, his heavy breathing and light snore a sure sign he was out like a light, fully clothed and as uncomfortable looking as ever.

It was a position Fiddleford had seen many times, although usually at a desk or table or even one notable instance on a stairway. Fiddleford himself had adopted the same slumped over posture over many long nights staying up doing work and chasing ideas. Being there for so long was a sure way to ruin the mans back, but he wouldn’t budge an inch from where he was sitting unless he absolutely had to.

Because clutching Fords arms and wrapped around his head, sitting in the bathtub was-

And in the bathtub-

In the bathtub-

In it-

Was Stanley.

Or the thing Ford was convinced was his twin brother.

The thing everyone kept telling Fiddleford was a shapeshifter wriggled and writhed in the bathtub, a pile of everchanging flesh. Tendrils and hands and claws and wings tapped at the edges of the tub, curling over the side before pulling themselves in. Eyes rolled in and out of existence, too many too human as they frantically darted around before bubbling out of existence. Wings shot up and spread feathers and scales in patterns and colors that didn’t exist on any animal off its back before melting into flippers and fins that ended in ears that flopped over into the mass as it collapsed in on itself.

The entire shifting blob pulsed, skin vibrating with a too-fast pulse as mouths and beaks popped up to suck in breaths before exhaling out of dozens of whale-like blow holes. Fur stood on end when Fiddleford opened the door, more eyes popping up to look at him before chittering mouths ripped across it and muttered with too many sounds to make sense of.

It would be easier to look at if it was a blob of skin in a bathtub, but the constant fluctuations made his stomach curl. A thin skin like tendril was rubbing up and down the side of Fords head, and in less than a second it turned every shade of green, and in another it grew pink fur, three eyes, then wobbled and hit the side of the tub, sinking back into the main body, only to be replaced by a longer, flatter tendril that slid around Fords shoulders.

Ford kept snoring away, uncaring about the thousands of tiny fluctuating hands digging into his sleeves or the fact that his arms had disappeared into the blob up to his elbows. It was the only way to keep ‘Stanley’ calm, as any time he removed his arms to do anything ‘Stanley’ wailed and writhed even more desperately, which had resulted in it tearing down the shower curtain and maybe eating its blanket.

(Ford wasn’t sure, and wasn’t willing to shift ‘Stanley’ to see if it had dragged it down and was now laying on it)

After a few seconds of watching it, Fiddleford took a shuddering breath and slid a foot across the doorway. A loud rumble filled the room, and Fiddleford froze, eyes still locked onto the living blob and therefore not missing the moment it began to change.

The constant shifting slowed, then began to become even more fast-paced and erratic. Skin bubbled and swelled, losing all tension and looking almost liquid. It sloshed back and forth in the large basin, joints locking stiff and swinging wildly, before going boneless and slamming down on the side.

The noise got worse, the rumbling joined by a stuttering growl and chittering. Something inside the liquid blob snapped, once, then twice, then across it in a cascade from Fords end of the tub to the other. Its flailing tendrils came to a sudden stop, freezing for a moment, then flopping down, limp and lifeless.

The surface began to heave, motions getting bigger and almost rippling, until, in the center, a large bubble started swelling.

It didn’t grow too much, just above the lip of the tup. Once there it stopped, and pushed towards one side, like it was trying to heave itself out of the tub.

Or something was trying to push out.

Fiddleford didn’t scream, or dart forward and drag Ford away from whatever was happening. There was no time, and even if there was, Fiddleford had lost all the breath in his lungs, and his legs were rooted to the spot.

The blob had fallen completely still, except for where it was pushing to the side, towards Fiddleford. It pushed and stretched, and then-

Popped.

With an awful squelch, a figure burst up and out from the now lifeless blob, falling forward to slam too human arms on the edge. Two five fingered hands gripped it tightly, while two shaking arms kept it from banging its single human head on the side. It was covered in thick green liquid, making the brown hair growing from its head flat and slick.

A shudder ran through it, fingers gripping tightly on the rim, even as it shook harder and harder and-

Coughed.

An explosive, wet sound, as it leaned further over the side and coughed, over and over, expelling more green fluid from its-his lungs onto the bathroom floor from one singular mouth. The movement made it easier to see his face, see his human teeth and one nose. His two clenched tight eyes and eyebrows. See a single, human face, with no signs of any other holes, feathers, fur, extra teeth, or anything else that had been rolling back and forth over the blob.

A face that looked how Ford used to, before time had taken away all his baby fat.

A face that could only belong to Stanley.

The coughing didn’t last long and ended with Stanley taking a huge heaving breath. He pushed himself away from the edge of the tub and snapped his eyes open, the same brown as Fords.

Fiddlefords mouth was still hanging open in a silent scream. It didn’t have time to loosen or form words, just twisted into horror as Stanely grabbed the edge of the limp blob of flesh he’d burst out of and shoved it into his mouth.

It was about the worst thing Fiddleford had ever seen, and he’d seen things so terrible he invented a machine to erase them from his mind.

A machine he would have made heavy use of, if Maurice hadn’t stolen it from him and hidden it away somewhere.

Stanley’s human teeth were blunt, and the chunk of what had used to be him tough and rubbery. As Fiddleford watched, he bit down hard and growled, shaking his head as he pulled. It stretched further, mostly skin but with chunks of scales and half formed fingers, then ripped with a sickening sound. The edges flopped over, and the rest Stanley was quick to shove the rest of the way into him mouth and chew rapidly.

There was a lot of crunching happening, and just as quickly as Stanley had shoved it into his mouth, he was swallowing and taking another bite.

It was just as tough and resistant to tearing as the first one had been, and Stanley’s teeth didn’t change to make the job easier. Blunt human nails dug into each part and blunt human teeth with human canines tore into it. What sections weren’t limp were stiff, and the room was soon filled with Stanley’s crunching and slurping, undercut by a low growl coming out of his chest.

His eyes, unfocused and twisted from the effort of tearing his skin apart, kept looking Fiddleford direction. Not because he was staring at him, it was clear Stanley wasn’t really seeing, just shoving things into his mouth as quickly as possible, but because he every time he got a good chunk in his mouth he’d sit there and chew, and Fiddleford had the misfortune of standing directly in front of him.

He got a first row seat as Stanley tore of a seven fingered hand still frozen in clenching agony and covered in purple scales, and tore off each finger one by one like it was jerky mixed with rock candy.

Eyeballs still wide eyed and searching were pulled out and popped into  his mouth like Jello, bits of hair slurped up like noodles with far too much crunching. Green liquid oozed out of his mouth with each bite, dripping down his jaw and splattering into the tub, only to get shoved back into Stanley’s mouth when he scooped it up and swallowed it like water.

The fact that Ford was still slumped over and snoring away would have flown over his head completely if Stanley, once everything in front of him had been gobbled up, hadn’t lunged to the side and started tearing into the area around Fords hands. Once he got closer Stanley grabbed Fords arms and started pulling, the growling coming from his chest rising in pitch when they didn’t move right away.

For one horrifying moment, Fiddleford was sure he was about to see the monster in Fords bathtub wearing Fords brothers face start devouring his friend as easily as he’d devoured himself. A part of him screamed as one of Fords arms came free with a wet pop, and a spike of fear shot down his spine when Stanley brought it closer to his mouth, open and breathing heavily.

Fiddleford couldn’t look away. Couldn’t move, or blink, and he was pretty sure he’d stopped breathing hours ago. Fords hand was limp, his friend still oblivious and snoring, like the thing he’d convinced himself wasn’t about to eat him in his sleep.

The hand got closer, then was jerked up, stopping just below Stanley’s nose.

He took one sniff.

Another.

Then-

Threw it over the side of the bathtub, where it was joined by the rest of Ford after Stanley pulled his other arm and shoved his face off the side.

Ford hit the ground like a sack of potatoes and snoring like potatoes shouldn’t. The tendril that had been around his shoulders was yanked up with a snarl, and slurped down like a baguette sized noodle.

Stanley moved on like nothing happened, shoving more and more, showing no sign of stopping as he made his way around the bathtub. Tearing into it never got easier for him, and he growled as each chunk ripped off like overcooked steak. More of his front and arms got covered in the thick green fluid, which got thicker and more congealed the more time passed.

And then just like that, it was over. Stanley shoved the last piece of mixed skin and scales and feathers into his mouth and chewed, slowing down for the first time since he started. The growl that had been non stop softened, then disappeared, leaving only Stanley’s heavy breathing and slow chewing to fill the silence.

He was still looking Fiddlefords way, but his expression had softened. Still hazy, still unseeing, but drawn and tired, eyes heavy and head drooping with each chew.

One last swallow sent the last of the nightmare shifting blob down Stanley’s throat to join the rest, and then there was just his breathing.

Stanley opened his mouth in a yawn, as human looking as any teenager sitting in a bathtub covered in green goo. What was less human looking was the way he brought his arm up and lazily began licking it, leaving a clear patch of pale skin in its wake.

And then Fiddleford stood there, knuckles white from how hard he was gripping the plate still in his hands, watching Stanley twist and turn to lick off as much as the goop as he could reach.

The arms were easy, the rest of him not so much. His human neck couldn’t twist to reach his back or his chest, and Fiddleford watched in detached pity as he softly whined and wriggled, clearly distressed at how little he could get into his mouth.

Eventually exhaustion won over his need to get at his slime coating, and he yawned once more, before ducking down below the side of the tub and out of Fiddlefords sight.

As if in a nightmare, Fiddlford’s feet drifted across the bathroom floor to peer over the edge. Stanley was still in there, as human looking and naked as he’d been before. The blanket Ford had thought lost was half over his legs and soaked in green, already stiffening in some areas. Stanley had pulled a corner up and shoved it in his mouth to slowly suck at it, tongue darting out to lap at some of the goo still stuck to the bottom of the bathtub. His eyes were already closing, breathing deepening as he brought his limbs in close.

Ford continued to snore on the floor, in the same collapsed pile Stanely had shoved him into.

When he woke up, Fiddleford couldn’t say.

Darkness overtook him before he thought to kick him himself.

Gonna tag @artistredfox and @otsalezu for their contributions in bug stan fun :)) Hope you like it!

hello would. you like to elaborate on. ford pines osdd. ((because I recently got diagnosed and. blorbo moments. but also because I love the idea in general. ford "I feel like I've lived 50 different lives" pines.))

Hi I love your shapeshifter au! How did Fidds interact with Shifty pre-portal incident? It was probably pretty weird to see Shifty take on Tate's form, but did Fiddleford fill a parental role?